"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!?"
Oh, that's real mature.
I'm 14 years old again, trapped in my parents' mausoleum of marble floors and walls too cold to the touch for leaning against.
Before I learned I could escape.
"Remember Dorrie? Her friend has a nice son your age, he's making a lot of money... "
"I'm not interested mom."
"What's wrong with you? Why can't you do anything good for once? You're finally starting to behave and you still won't listen to your parents..."
I'm sorry, but I don't have the energy to rehash the rest of it. We're sitting on a terasse, not far from my appartment, my appartment with the high ceilings that I spent years grinding my fingers for, eating not-very-good cajun shrimp, and me guzzling beer so that it gives my mouth something to do other than spout obscenities.
I didn't argue.
I behaved.
I am wearing lacy black thong underwear, thinking of all the people that have come and gone in my life that my parents have never heard about, let alone dreamed that their princess daughter could be cavorting with...
And I don't mean the tattooed dancers and the pierced ladies.
I mean you. cf, and chuckies, and the lot of you "individuals" who are a pox on the proper un-weird behaviour my parents would have me exhibiting.
I have a platinum chain wound through my right ear, through 8 holes, one for every moment I wound up with a piercing gun up to my head, to mark an Occurrence.
I tried telling them when I was raped, when I was 14.
That was the first hole.
They didn't believe me, that sort of thing doesn't happen to their kids.
The only thing they want to know about the rest of the holes is when I'm going to get rid of them.
"That chain is weird. When are you going to be normal?"
I'm not. I'm sorry, y'know, when the mists clear and I'm back in my home, my first, ever, home, I really am sorry.
I'm sorry I didn't have what it takes to be the beautiful girl you wanted.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I took your high cheekbones and this angel's grimace you gave me, and made it weird.
I'm really fucking sorry to have wound up happy without you.
And now I'm trying... I don't even know why, I figure I might as well, I've conquered everything else, right? I conquered shyness, I conquered this damned language you threw me into, I conquered math and a university that you didn't want me attending, I made friends despite how hard you tried to keep me from them.
I won. I fought really fucking hard, and now I don't want to fight anymore.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to be who you want me to be.
I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sorry, everybody.
I can't do it.
And that's the other side of the story. That's why I'm better off alone.
Because we need fighters, and clowns and loners, and shaman,
and I'm real good good at that,
but that's why I gotta be alone.
I stand alone, but you're welcome to laugh, or cry, or share the warmth of my bed or my arms, anytime.
But while I stand, I think I need to be alone.